I am walking up a street when I bump into someone, grabbing his waist. He’s wearing a nice white with blue stripes dress shirt and has dark hair. When he turns around, he smiles, his blue eyes lighting up in some vague recognition. “Aren’t you the girl who complimented me?” I am still confused. “I play saxophone.” When he says that I make the connection immediately. A few weeks earlier I had seen a band play and he was in the band. I saw him after the show, told him he was great, but didn’t say anything more because I realized he is much younger than I. But here we are, on a street corner where I’ve recklessly bumped into him while he’s waiting for the light to change. He reaches into my pocket and pulls out a postcard flyer for his next gig. “You should be there.” I take the card and watch him walk away. I don’t intend on going but I do.

I get dressed in a silky purple skirt with a darker purple top. Over that I pull on a jacket and I also wear a hat to hide my grey hair. I leave for his gig and when I am sitting there watching his band I feel too old to be there. I look down at what I am wearing and hate everything about the outfit. I take off my hat, brushing my hair with my hand but I really don’t want to be there anymore. I decide to get up and leave. As I am gathering up my things, a hand lowers before me holding a bouquet of red rosebuds and white button chrysanthemums. From behind me I hear, “I hoped you would be here.” I turn around, uncomfortable in how I look and feel. But he only smiles, so happy to see me that he can’t see how much older I am. I say something about our age difference and his expression doesn’t change one iota. I try to smell one of the rosebuds and he says something to me about not kissing or biting the roses because they will bite back. I smile, thoroughly enchanted.